


The Seven Deadly Insta Stories

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Insta stories, M/M, Seven Deadly Sins, Tour Bus, Tour Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-11 01:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15304785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: A collection of seven short fics based on the seven deadly sins, as told in the form of insta stories dnpdidn’tpost.asa prompt from @phanfichallengeto post a fic every day this week, have my tour fic twist on the seven deadly sins!!





	1. Greed

Phil pulls out his phone - Dan’s halfway across the street now, rushing up to the entrance of the boutique store he’d spotted and demanded they stop at. Even though they’re late. 

“So Dan saw this jumper,” Phil explains, keeping his voice light as he films through the tinted window of the tour bus, “the one with the sparkly stripes down the sleeves.” He zooms in on the item in question, a pitch black sweater - of _course_ , what other color would it be? - modeled by a purple headless mannequin in the dim store window. Phil zooms back out.

“Uh oh!” He chuckles as he watches Dan pull at the door handle to no avail. “It must be closed!” It’s pretty late, but Dan had insisted they at least _try_ , because how could he pass up _that_ jumper? So - in spite of Phil’s anxieties - they’d delayed their departure for a few minutes, long enough to presumably let Dan make a quick purchase.

Except now he’s whirling around on the spot, shaking his head and shrugging at the bus; Phil can’t help the little self-satisfied smirk he makes, reflected in the window back at himself - it serves Dan right, not getting what he wants when he inconvenienced everyone else. Just as he steps back into the street, a flash of purplish-white lightning illuminates the dark road - which, Phil admits, looks pretty amazing for the insta story. It looks far less amazing, though, when Dan jumps, clearly wide-eyed even through the grainy lens of the camera. 

“Dan, hurry back!” He tells the window and the camera, silently sending the message to Dan as well. It’s not that it’s far, but if it starts-

“Oh _no_ ,” Phil laughs through the words, though, as a sheet of rain hits hard and fast, drenching the bus and the window and the street and the pavement and all the way up to where Dan’s backed himself against the store window - right under the narrow overhang - in a sad attempt to protect himself; it’s only a moment before his wide eyes lock on the bus.

Phil has a _very_ hard time keeping his hand steady as he snickers under his breath - Dan’s practically sprinting across the street, hand up to his forehead to keep the rain from his eyes. He doesn’t even get five steps before he’s clearly soaked to the bone.

“Guys, I think this is the most I’ve seen Dan run in his _entire life_!” Phil narrates. Once Dan’s disappeared out of view of the window, Phil turns; a moment later, Dan’s climbing into the bus, literally dripping everywhere. Phil can’t help but notice his very white shirt has soaked through completely.

“Oh, hello nips!” He chuckles, zooming in again; the camera misses Dan’s glare, but Phil certainly doesn’t.

“Fucking….just shut it _off_ ,” Dan grumbles, arms crossing over his chest, and Phil’s grin falls - surely Dan isn’t _that_ upset about it? Yeah, he’s a bit drenched and he didn’t get the jumper, but...it’s not a big deal, right?

“Sorry,” he twists his lips into a frown as he stops the video, deletes it. He can post something else for their audience later; in the meantime, he glances around, searching for anything warmer than the wet clothes Dan’s standing in. Not to mention they’ve had the aircon blasting the whole trip so far, and Phil’s almost certain he noticed Dan shiver.

Phil ends up wrapping him in a spare blanket, and Dan grumbles out a thanks before shuffling on to the back of the bus and picking through his luggage for - Phil assumes - something dry to wear. Phil doesn’t say anything, but makes a point of scooting over on the bench so there’s just enough room for Dan to sit, if he wants.

Quickly, he types the name of the boutique into his search, just as the bus lurches forward beneath them and pulls away - the first four options aren’t right, but the fifth looks like the store, and he scrolls through with fervor until he finds the black jumper Dan had set his eyes on.

Phil clicks the ‘order’ button and tucks his phone away a moment before Dan returns, freshly clothed in their tour hoodie and a pair of baggy sweats, and collapses into the seat beside him. Phil reaches out on instinct, wrapping an arm around Dan’s shoulder and pulling him closer. 


	2. Gluttony

“Oh _dear_ ,” Dan pans the camera across a massive stack of plates laden with leftover syrup and dustings of icing sugar - the aftermath of their breakfast of champions. Or breakfast of overeaters, as the case may be. He flips the camera round to himself, grinning.

“Seems we’ve eaten _all_ the pancakes. And the waffles. And the french toast. _And_ most of the syrup they brought along with it, isn’t that right, Phil?” He chuckles as he uses the front-facing camera to navigate his way backwards to where Phil’s laid out on the sofa, then sits heavily beside him. Phil just groans and turns his head into the cushion, draping an arm across his face.

“See, Phil couldn’t decide which he wanted, so we had to order _all of them_ ,” Dan grins as he explains this to the camera. “And then _Phil_ ,” he glances pointedly over his shoulder at the motionless mass on the sofa behind him, “couldn’t decide which he _liked_ best, so he had to eat them all. Every. Last. Bite.” Dan lets his smile turn into a grin of discomfort - which, admittedly, isn’t all that challenging. He ate quite a lot himself, but he’s filming this story to shame _Phil_.

Phil’s knee taps weakly against Dan’s back, but Dan presses on - he’s thought of one more thing to say, then Phil can have his turn.

“So, what do you think, will three sugary breakfasts in a row keep him off pancakes for a _whole day_ or will he be back at it again tomorrow?” He intends to put a poll up, make the whole thing a bit more interactive. And poke some more fun at Phil - but really, Dan _had_ warned him not to eat so much. It’s his own fault.

Dan feels another nudge.

“Oh, look at him,” Dan flips the camera and points it right at Phil’s mostly-covered face. “What have you got to say for yourself?” He waits, then, expecting Phil to chime in with whatever adorable defense or witty joke he’d been wanting to tell.

Except none comes. Instead, Phil groans again, and not even in the ‘this is all for the camera’ kind of way. Dan’s brows scrunch and his lips tug down, then he’s shut his phone off and set it on the table across from them, hidden among their many plates.

“Hey, camera’s off, are you alright?” He turns back to Phil, who still hasn’t moved. After a long moment of silence, Phil’s head shifts just slightly. Dan frowns.

“No,” Phil finally croaks out, moving his arm enough that Dan’s able to see his eyes squeezed shut behind his glasses. They haven’t even gotten out of their pyjamas yet, not that they really need to, but it’s barely noon and Phil looks absolutely miserable. Dan supposes he’d best mark the day as a write-off, one for movies and catching up on TV shows and maybe playing some video games if Phil feels up to it. At least it’s an off day, and they didn’t really have a whole lot planned to begin with.

“Here, lay on your side, I’ll get some ginger ale - do you want a blanket as well, or-” he breaks off when Phil shakes his head a bit more noticeably, then stands with a soft ‘okay’.

Dan’s briefly reminded of the last time Phil got sick on tour - properly sick, which Dan’s almost certain is not the case this time round. That was days of quiet, sitting still with headphones in and turned down low just in case the slightest noise might wake a sleeping Phil - he really needed every single minute of rest. At least this isn’t that, it’s just a case of sticking Phil and his lack of self control in front of far too much sugar for any one human being. He opens a can of ginger ale absently, then turns back to find Phil’s followed instructions, laying on his side now.

Admittedly, he didn’t think it through, but he lays a hand on Phil’s arm.

“Phil, sorry, you should sit up just for a second and have a few sips, it’ll help.” Dan keeps his voice low, entirely the opposite of his boisterous teasing from earlier. He makes a mental note to delete that story - he’s pretty sure Phil doesn’t want to be seen like this. He’ll laugh about it after, maybe tweet about it, but a recording in the moment is different. Dan understands the boundaries.

Phil manages to shift enough that he’s mostly upright, so Dan offers the can and waits for him to drink; his eyes shift between the ginger ale and Dan a few times, but he takes a sip, then another, before handing the drink over and lowering himself back to the sofa. The can joins the other miscellany littering their table - a mess he’ll deal with later, so Phil doesn’t have to - and then Dan’s sat back beside Phil, rubbing small circles across his back.


	3. Sloth

“So I know I’m meant to be working on my video, but I honestly just couldn’t be bothered,” Dan says with a smirk at the camera - it’s a lie, he knows, as he’s actually spent nearly the entire night stressing about what to make. Not that he’s _done_ anything, just sort of stared at the ceiling and run over why every single idea he’s had so far isn’t quite right.

The darkness of the bunk combined with the dim lighting from his phone screen cast uncomfortably obvious shadows across his face - he’s _exhausted_ , but he couldn’t sleep. He needed a distraction.

“You’ve heard of ‘sleepless nights with Phil’,” he chuckles, “get ready for sleepless nights with Dan! Featuring an existential crisis, cause we’re bringing back the old branding,” he grins again, but it’s forced and fake and he hates that it looks so obvious.

“So I’ve been rolling around on the floor - which is quite hard, you know, in a moving tour bus. Plus I take up the entire length of the floor, nobody can get by,” he chuckles - it’s true, not that he’s spent much time on the less-than-comfortable bare carpet, but he’d certainly span the entire space. Hard to roll around much like that. Even in the bunk, he has to shift and tug his knees up just to get moderately comfortable, and that’s just laying still.

“But I was on the floor the other day,” actually, he was in his bunk and this was not even five minutes ago, but that’s not as dramatic. “And I had at least twelve ideas, but you know, none of them - because it has to _fit_ , right, I have to, I have this thing with the thumbnails, and like, the titles, and it has to be the right time, and it-” he breaks off suddenly - this feels a lot like a liveshow. He’s sort of missed those. 

“Right, it wouldn’t have been, uh, the time,” he finishes his sentence, though he can’t quite recall where it started. He sits up a bit, just so his pillow’s got his head propped up. “Anyway, tried listening to some music,” he didn’t, but that’s not important, he just wants to talk about inconsequential things, “didn’t help, cause I was stuck on this song Phil showed me, and it’s a fucking _bop_ , like if you haven’t listened - and I mean, who hasn’t? But…” he trails off, letting his face fall.

This isn’t a liveshow. He doesn’t have to put on this facade. He doesn’t even have to make this insta story if he doesn’t want. He just doesn’t know _what_ he wants right now. Sure, the whole concept for the tour had been to ‘give the people what they want’, but now that they’ve opened that barrier, the people want _everything_. He lets his phone fall to his side with a soft thump.

He’s been stuck for months - well, months made up of minutes between tours and gaming videos and planning and travel and _fuck_ they’ve been busy. He wants to lay some of the blame on that, he knows there’s a lot involved with this tour, but...he’s meant to be giving the people what they want. They want a new dinof, and he’s doing a shit job providing it. 

And he’s back where he was ten minutes ago, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of his bunk and desperately wishing his brain would shut up, just long enough that he can fall asleep. He doesn’t dare check the time on his phone, he knows it’ll only add to his unnecessary stress.

When the curtain swishes beside him, he nearly slams his head up into the stupid fucking ceiling he’s been staring at.

“Dan?” Phil’s head pokes upside down over the edge as he pushes the fabric aside; his glasses slip up his nose, threatening to fall from his face and onto the floor. Dan has half a mind to smack them off him for scaring the shit out of him like that. “You awake?” Phil asks as if Dan’s not literally staring right back at him.

“ _No_ , Phil, I’m-” he stops and sighs; it’s not Phil’s fault, he shouldn’t take it out on him. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits instead, leaning on an elbow. He can just barely see the corner of Phil’s lip twist down - rather, it twists _up_ , but up is down and he’s starting to feel like that’s a pretty accurate way to describe his life right now: completely flipped on its head, inverted and unusual.

“Me either,” Phil says after a moment, and his head tilts, shifting the glasses from the bridge of his nose; suddenly they’re falling, then, and Dan sticks his arm out in a too-slow attempt to catch them. They land on the carpet with a soft thud. Dan exhales a low breath, because _of course_ he’s failed at yet another thing life’s gone and thrown at him. Ultimately, he knows how stupid he’s being about something so insignificant, but it drags his self esteem down anyway.

Until Phil makes a noise Dan’s not sure he could properly describe - something squeaky and high pitched that Phil makes a futile effort to muffle; Dan glances up to find Phil’s hand over his own mouth, but his eyes are scrunched up the way they get when he’s laughing.

Then, in the most uncoordinated, least graceful maneuver Dan’s ever seen - one he’s sure only Phil could accomplish - Phil climbs down from his bunk. Of course, Dan thinks, he had to swap to a top bunk this time round, after literally _every_ bottom bunk was too uncomfortable for him to properly sleep through the night. They’re just asking for him to break an arm trying to get up in the mornings.

Phil hunches over for a moment, then straightens up partway and returns his glasses to their proper location. Then offers Dan a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, alright you spork, get in,” Dan grumbles, but he’s grinning as well - they’ll be massively sore in the morning, squished up against each other in a tiny hole of a bunk that can barely even hold _one_ of them comfortably, let alone two, but it’ll be worth it. 


	4. Envy

Phil peeks out of the bunk through a crack in the curtain he’s drawn shut: Dan’s still lounging on the sofa, computer on his lap and completely unaware. Phil has to fight back a giggle - he cannot _believe_ he’s getting away with this!

After a final check just to be extra sure Dan’s still fully focused on his laptop, Phil pulls out his phone and sets to recording.

“Okay guys, so Dan bought this fancy box of popcorn the other day and he said I wasn’t allowed _any_ of it,” he widens his eyes, shaking his head at the injustice. “And he thinks he’s _so_ sneaky, said he hid the little samples - because it had like, twelve different flavors - all over the bus in all sorts of secret places and that I’d _never_ find them!” 

Phil had been quite proud of the thoroughness of his search, although he did only manage to find a single packet; Dan had hidden it under _Phil’s_ bunk, of all places, a spot Phil had only looked after he’d given up on everywhere else. Even _Dan’s luggage_ had been popcorn-free, and that search had required some ninja levels of sneaking.

Dan had nearly caught him, too.

“I thought he’d have some hidden with his luggage, like under dirty laundry or something, but nothing! And then he walked in on me and I had to pretend I was looking for a missing sock.” Phil recounts, then drops his voice low and quiet - he’s completely forgotten that Dan’s right outside, could easily pull out an earbud and hear every word. 

“But I found one, so point for Philly!” He chuckles, flipping the camera to film the popcorn. Then he sets the phone aside to tear into the plasticky packaging, grinning with his fingers poised to rip it open. Except…

It would be _so much more_ satisfying and delicious, he thinks, if he were to go out and eat it with Dan _right there_. And the insta story would be hilarious - Phil can picture Dan’s betrayed, horrified face now. 

As quietly as he can manage, he slides the curtain back from his bunk, careful to hide the crinkling package of popcorn behind his back. He switches on his phone, setting to record again, and gives the camera a huge grin as he settles on the bench across from Dan.

Dan doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t care, so Phil angles his body toward the bus window to tear into the package. He holds his breath as the corner rips, the noise _monstrously_ loud in the ambient silence, but a quick glance at Dan confirms he’s still focused on his computer, headphones steadfastly blocking out any sound Phil makes.

He grins and repositions the camera so he can fit his face, the popcorn, and Dan all in the shot.

“Hey, Dan!” He calls, hopefully loud enough to break through the barrier of Dan’s concentration. He watches his screen as Dan continues to ignore him. “ _Dan!_ ” He tries again, and this time, Dan’s head lifts - his attention’s still on the laptop, but he pulls out an earbud and hums in question.

“Just thought you might like to know,” Phil smirks at the camera, “that I’ve _found your popcorn!_ ” He lets his jaw drop, waiting for Dan’s horrified and/or pissed off reaction, but it doesn’t come.

“Did you?” He mumbles, still focused on his screen, and Phil tries not to frown - Dan’s supposed to have some kind of _sensational_ reaction! He’s ruining all Phil’s fun, not to mention the story.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Phil refuses to give up just yet. “And I’m about to eat it! And there’s nothing you can do to stop me!” He sets the package on the table and pulls out a few pieces, glancing over at Dan. Who looks totally uninterested in Phil’s popcorn theft. He wonders if he should’ve gone for cereal instead.

“Oh _no_ ,” Dan has the decency to at least fall out of his monotone long enough to sound _sarcastic_ , and Phil wonders if Dan just thinks he won’t actually do it. So Phil shoves the pieces in his mouth without any further taunting, his lips curling in a self-satisfied smirk as he chews.

Except it takes all of two seconds for him to wish he hadn’t, for his face to scrunch up in a disgusted grimace that’s framed perfectly by the edges of the camera; Phil does his best not to actually spit the popcorn out, but it’s one of the hardest things he’s had to in his whole life, he’s sure.

The damn popcorn is _cheese_ flavored, and not even a _good_ cheese, it’s like a weird one he can’t recall the name of, but it’s gross and awful and- is Dan _laughing?_ Phil swallows thickly, still frowning as he sets his phone down next to the offending popcorn. Nobody should be allowed to make popcorn taste like _that_ , it’s a disgrace to popcorn all over the world.

“I can’t believe-” Dan’s absolutely _losing it_ , and Phil whirls around to find him doubled over on the sofa, computer nearly falling from his lap. “You _actually_ , you actually ate it!” He’s sputtering words out between high-pitched laughter that alternates with gasps for air, eyes squeezed shut and mouth stuck in a wide grin. Normally, Phil loves seeing Dan like this: genuinely happy about something with no reservations.

He’s less than pleased about these particular circumstances, but he supposes, just this once, he can let it slide.


	5. Wrath

Dan’s listening to music as he writes, something contemplative and soft - the ideas flow out onto the page in a mess of chicken scratch, lines and arrows, dates and possibilities that get scribbled out when he remembers this or that obligation, commitments that don’t matter but they can’t avoid. He doesn’t hear Phil til he’s too close, til it’s far too late; Dan fumbles with attempting to close the notebook and tugging an earbud out at the same time.

“Oooh, Danny’s got something _secret_ , wonder what-” Phil’s talking to his phone, the camera poised right over Dan’s shoulder, and Dan shoves at Phil’s arm, hoping they can laugh and Phil can poke some fun and that’ll be the end of it.

But Phil’s persistent, chuckling as his hand darts out, grabbing at the notebook and pulling it away before Dan can properly react; his heart lodges in his throat as Phil retreats back into the bunk area, saying something for the insta story that Dan can’t make out, but it doesn’t matter - Phil _cannot_ see what he’d been writing.

Dan lurches from his seat, headphones forgotten as they’re wrenched from his ear; he races toward Phil, face hot with frustration and desperately hoping Phil’s not found the page yet. A naive corner of his mind thinks he can still salvage this, somehow.

“Phil, _give it back_ ,” he does his best to keep his voice low, tone even, but he knows he’s made a mistake, knows it’s _too_ much - Phil’s brows lift at the same time his phone does, and Dan feels very _watched_.

“Dan’s keeping secrets, guys! New show segment, what’s in Dan’s _notebook_?” He chuckles, but doesn’t make a move to lower the camera, to stop filming. In fact, he very clearly takes another step back, grin turning to a smirk as he flips open to an early page in the notebook. Which is _fine_ , Dan thinks, it’s probably just some old video ideas. Nothing remarkable there. Dan’s eyes widen as Phil flips further, though; his heart races, his breathing goes shallow, and he makes a final desperate lunge for the notebook.

“Phil, I _said_ don’t!” Dan shouts, and he knows it’s only egging Phil on, but he can’t help it - Phil _cannot_ see the page he’d just been writing on. Phil spins at the last second, of course, and somehow manages to avoid Dan; then he’s sequestered himself into the corner, phone hovering over _the_ page in the notebook, and Dan feels like he’s sinking into the floor below him.

Anger boils up alongside nerves, though - how _dare_ Phil think this is a joke? That he can just _film_ things like this? Personal, _private_ things. Hadn’t he learned his lesson all those years ago? Doesn’t he _know better_?

Dan’s suddenly desperate to shout this at Phil, to rage and bring up old arguments they’ve long since settled. But Phil should _know_ by now! He takes what he hopes is a menacing step forward, though Phil’s back is turned, and attempts to crowd him. To make him waver. To make him _stop_ , for fuck’s-

“Ooh, lots of dates scratched out for next year, what do you think Dan’s got planned for April? Maybe the next danisnotonfire?” He laughs, and Dan freezes - he knows it’s a joke, and it normally wouldn’t bother him at all, but Dan’s suddenly _furious_. 

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Phil, and give me my damn notebook back!” He grabs Phil’s shoulder and spins him around, probably with more force than strictly necessary, but Phil seems entirely unfazed, just giggling and sliding out past Dan and into the front lounge again. Dan follows, trying to use his height - for once - to look a bit more threatening. If Phil’s at all daunted by this, he doesn’t show it.

“Oooh!” He goes back to filming, though he’s stumbling toward the front of the bus as Dan gets closer. “What’s the- wait, why’d you write Studio Ghibli?” Phil pauses, squinting down at the page. “And...Tokyo?” Dan’s chest sinks, and his desperate hope he could do something special and unexpected for Phil flies out the window. “Dan, what’s- what is this?” Phil’s phone drops to his side, eyes wide and uncertain as he looks up at Dan. 

For a moment, Dan just exhales, squeezes his eyes shut. All his anger dissolves into a mess of disappointment in his chest, and he drops heavily to the sofa.

“I was gonna surprise you, a trip back to Japan next year, but-” he breaks off, and he knows he’s on the verge of tears. Somehow, he’d thought if he didn’t have it on his laptop, if he planned and brainstormed everything on paper, he could keep it a secret. Phil wouldn’t find out, not til he woke him up the morning of with two packed suitcases and a taxi waiting to take them to the airport. He feels childishly, stupidly naive.

“Oh.” Phil sits beside Dan, “I ruined the surprise, didn’t I?” He keeps his voice low, leaning against Dan’s shoulder; even though he’s _right_ , and Dan sort of wants to be upset, he’s lost most of the fight he had earlier. 

“Yeah, you fucking spork,” he retorts, but there’s no force behind it; Dan sighs and drops his head to Phil’s shoulder. It’s silly to be mad, he knows, and he tries to let his disappointment fade out. It’s only partly Phil’s fault, anyway - Dan’s known him long enough, he should’ve expected he couldn’t keep this a secret.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll pretend I didn’t know? ‘Oh my god, Dan, what a surprise! I had no idea!’” Phil jokes, tone adorably forced and bright, and Dan huffs out a laugh and nudges Phil with an elbow. Phil responds by wrapping his arms around Dan, and Dan supposes it’ll probably be more fun to plan this trip _together_. 


	6. Pride

“Ooh, Phil,” Dan laughs as he pulls out his phone to film his imminent victory: the finish line is just around this corner, and he’s well clear of any other competitors. He holds down the A button with one hand and presses record on his phone with the other, zooming into the screen over Phil’s head.

“Phil said he could beat me,” he tells the camera, then pans down to Phil’s frowning face - he doesn’t look too far behind, but Dan’s right there, he just has to navigate this curve one-handed. Which he can do, easily. “He forgot how shit he is with tilt controls,” Dan supplies, already taking the turn. Phil’s frown deepens, his brow furrows.

Dan flips the camera, already around the bend and heading right for the finish line. He holds his hand steady, a straight shot to first place and absolutely _demolishing_ Phil’s inflated ego, and focuses briefly on his phone.

“Phil’s back on his forfeit thing, right, and he said the winner could pick next takeaway. And the _loser_ ,” he pauses, checking the game screen - only a bit further now - and letting out a huff of laughter, “Phil, are you _sure_ about this? Look, I’ll give you-” he breaks off, pulling his thumb from the button until he’s slowed nearly to a stop. “I’ll give you a chance.” He laughs as he zooms back in on the screen, where Phil’s in second but still approaching the corner Dan’s already gone around.

Dan scoots his cart forward a bit, then a bit more, teasing Phil - Phil’s eyes don’t leave the screen, though Dan knows if he weren’t filming, there’d be a middle finger aimed in his direction. 

“Ooh, look, the finish line, it’s _right...there…_ ” Dan draws the words out, inching closer - he reckons one good burst of speed, just a couple seconds, would get him over the line. Phil’s just turning the corner, so he lets his finger hover over the A button and gets ready; if he can time it _just_ right, it’ll be close enough to properly gloat over. 

For all Dan’s teasing, though, Phil doesn’t move, doesn’t break his immense concentration on the screen. Dan wonders if he’s really _that_ bothered by his own forfeit. Or maybe Phil just thought he could actually _win_.

“Well, Phil, looks like you’ll be-” Dan breaks off mid-sentence as the controller vibrates in his hand - he nearly drops it when the accompanying warning alarm sounds in the game, when a flashing blue shell icon pops up over his character’s head. He sucks in a breath, smashing the accelerate button as his words get lost in a chorus of ‘no no no no _no no no!_ ’

But it’s too late, Dan’s miniscule effort not nearly enough to pass the finish line before he’s obliterated by the damn blue shell, and Phil flies past him and into first place. By the time Dan’s fucking cart is able to move again, he’s in fifth, and he basically limps over the line before throwing his remote onto the sofa.

“ _No_ , I cannot _believe_ you fucking beat- I mean, the fucking _odds_ of a blue shell right before- _no_!” Dan can’t even form a coherent thought, only vaguely aware of his phone still filming in his hand, pointed at the traitorous screen and Phil. _Phil_ , who’s literally _stood up_ and got his hands thrown in the air in a stupid victory punch that only serves to make Dan even _more_ furious at his loss.

After what feels like a solid ten minutes of Phil celebrating - although it’s probably more like ten seconds - he turns to Dan with a bright grin. One that quickly dissolves into a fit of giggles, and Dan realizes his own face has scrunched up in disappointment. Not that the stupid forfeit is _that_ bad, he’s just pissed he sat around when the finish line was _right there_ and he could’ve just easily won. _Easily_.

“Yeah, well, you only won because I _let_ -” just then, the bus hits a bump under them, sending Dan’s phone flying from his hand into the wall behind him and sending _Phil_ flying across the bus and into Dan.

“Phil, you uncoordinated buffoon, get _off_!” Dan shoves at Phil where he’s landed, a hand on either side of Dan’s head and one knee pressed against his thigh. Phil’s other leg hangs suspended in the air, but he brings it down slowly as he regains balance. Still frustrated, Dan hits Phil’s chest again.

“Don’t _hurt_ me, I nearly died!” Phil complains, eyes wide, so Dan pokes at him until Phil’s squirming and grabbing at Dan’s hands, breathless as he tells Dan to ‘ _stop_ already!’ Dan’s wrists end up pinned over his head against the wall, then he’s forgotten how to breathe as Phil settles himself properly on his lap.

There’s a long moment of silence as Dan watches Phil’s eyes, the way they flick from his grip on Dan down to his lips, then further down his body; Dan’s fairly certain he’s losing consciousness - he keeps forgetting to inhale - when Phil dips his head til it’s only an inch from Dan’s, til his mouth is _right there_ , if only Dan had the mental capacity to lean forward.

“I think,” Phil says, voice low and full of promise, and Dan swallows thickly, “I may have come up with a _much_ better forfeit.”


	7. Lust

Phil can’t help it, Dan just looks so _pretty_ like this, and he knows it’ll be a good two weeks before they have a hotel room to themselves again. He needs _something_ to tide him over.

He watches Dan lower himself slowly, lip caught between his teeth as he sinks down on Phil’s cock - it sends a shiver up both their spines, even though this isn’t anything new or unusual; Dan exhales a low, shuddering breath at the same time Phil sucks one in and waits.

Sure, he’s waiting for Dan to adjust, but also for those brown eyes he adores to drift shut, for Dan to lose himself completely as he rides Phil, as his skin turns flushed and pink and sweaty, as his back bows and he lets out those soft breathy moans. Phil can picture the whole scene perfectly in his mind, but he wants something closer, the closest he can get to the real thing; his hand slides under the pillow he’s laying on, feeling for his phone.

He’s _sure_ Dan won’t mind - or maybe just never has to know - but he can’t go another _full two weeks_ without being able to see Dan like this. The first time he’d had to cope was _bad_ , bad enough that he’d very nearly convinced Dan to break their no-sex-on-the-tour-bus rule they’d made after an extremely embarrassing failure of a quickie during the last tour. 

His hand clenches tight around his phone the moment Dan moves again, lifting himself slowly; his eyes flick up to Phil’s, a grin curling his lips as he slams down hard, his pace immediate and relentless in a way that says he’s missed this just as much as Phil has. Phil manages, although just barely, to hold onto coherence long enough for Dan to dip his head, to lean into Phil with closed eyes and swollen lips in a silent demand Phil knows how to answer all too well.

His free hand snakes up to grab the back of Dan’s neck, to pull him into a rough kiss full of teeth and tongues and heavy breaths - Phil hopes, desperately hopes, as he slowly draws his phone from under the pillow, that tonight Dan will be _loud_. Phil has headphones; he wants to remember Dan moaning, whimpering, saying his name. They’re in a hotel room, surely he’ll-

“ _Phil_.” It’s barely a breath, but Phil does his best not to grin against Dan’s lips - it’s surely the best sound in the _world_ , hearing Dan wrecked and desperate and wanting _him_. Maybe that and a dog barking. Or the sound of Dan’s heartbeat in the middle of the night, when it’s Phil who can’t sleep for once and he needs something steady and reassuring. So like, top _three_ sounds.

He’s almost certain he’s recording, but he’s afraid to open his eyes and glance over at the screen in case it gives him away. If he can just get a few more seconds, that would surely be enough; just one more gasp from Dan, and maybe he can pan it a little lower, just down to-

“ _Phil!_ ” Dan shouts, and Phil can already tell it’s not the good kind of shouting; he squints one eye open to find Dan’s mouth wide, brows furrowed, face bright red - and none of these in the way Phil had been naively hoping. Dan rips the phone from Phil’s hand, the movement shifting him so he sucks in a breath, still sunken down on Phil’s cock.

“Were you going to fucking _post this_?” His voice comes out high pitched, disbelieving, and Phil’s eyes go wide.

“ _Post_ \- no, I was just, it was for- I would _never_ -” Phil sputters, unable to properly form words - he’d never _dream_ of sharing this with the world, of sharing _Dan_ with the world, how could Dan even _think_ -

“Then why the _fuck_ did you record it on _Instagram_?” Dan’s already tapping through the phone, Phil assumes to delete the video, then he tosses it across the room to the other bed - not that they’d waste a night sleeping apart, but that’s just the setup they’d been given. “I can’t _believe_ you’d fucking-”

“I _wouldn't_!” Phil protests, not even sure how his phone had gotten to Instagram to begin with, but Dan’s got his arms crossed over his chest, lip pushed out in a pout and his head turned to face the window. Except Phil can’t help but notice Dan’s still not moved off him. 

So Dan’s _mad_ , but not _that_ mad. 

Phil bites back a smirk, thrusting his hips up into Dan’s; admittedly, he expects the way Dan’s mouth drops as he gasps - the good kind of gasp, this time - and bows over, the way his hands fall on Phil’s chest and his nails dig in. But he doesn’t expect the harsh ‘ _Phil_ ’ growled in his ear, the teeth that nip at his neck, the way Dan slams himself down until Phil’s the one left a moaning mess underneath him.

**Author's Note:**

> ty ly bbs for reading!!! <3
> 
> Give it a cheeky [like/rb on tumblr](https://knlalla.tumblr.com/tagged/seven-deadly-sins-fic) if you like!


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